


you can leave your crown on

by confectionerybrick



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 3.05 coda, 3.05 spoilers, Amy is treated like the queen she is, Established Jake/Amy, Established Relationship, F/M, Halloween III, NO SERIOUSLY THOUGH, PWP, Plot What Plot, You Have Been Warned, all hail the crown of destiny and all hail she who wears it, things get a little rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confectionerybrick/pseuds/confectionerybrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake offers to make up for his offences against Amy during the third annual Halloween Heist, and she takes him up on it in a big way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can leave your crown on

**Author's Note:**

> The first section of this is a prompt I was given for the Peraltiago Fanfiction Tumblr, for which I am a writer. You can find the original post [here](http://peraltiago-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/132236028879/because-were-partners-in-everything-we-do).
> 
> Dedicated to phil-the-stone, without whose encouragement this piece of absolute filth would not exist.
> 
> Also, I'm really sorry for the cheesy title, but the idea kept making me laugh and wouldn't leave me alone. Try not to read this without that song playing in your mind, I dare you.

Amy's still wearing the victory garb at 2am. The cape had slipped a little on her shoulders, but she continued to wear it proudly as she sipped whiskeys and bragged to an impressed Rosa and Gina about how she'd outsmarted both her boss and her boyfriend. Confidence always looks so great on her, Jake thinks, as he slips a hand round her waist and presses his lips to a spot just under the crown.

When the bar closes he follows her to a cab, holding the door open for her as she hops inside. The short ride back to her apartment is unusually silent, and he watches her fingers tap-tap-tap on the stained seat. He moves a little closer to her, and she shuffles to fit to his side, but her back feels stiff and unyielding.

Her apartment is dark and warm, the city light filtering in though slits in the blinds. Jake flicks on the spotlights that illuminate her kitchenette, but Amy makes a beeline to her bedroom and starts to untie the fastening of the robe around her neck.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

Jake closes his fingers over hers and starts to pick at the knot himself; Amy's shoulders sag as he rests his chin in the crook of her neck, arms boxing her in on either side. When she doesn't say anything, he drops the cord and spins her round to face him.

“You're still pissed at me.”

It isn't a question; he can read it in the way she averts her gaze and shifts on her feet.

“Just because I won doesn't mean how you treated me was okay,” Amy finally blurts, grabbing the cord and loosening the knot with one hard tug. “I can't believe you don't get it.”

His heart sinks.

“ _Amy_. I'm sorry I didn't pick you, and I'm sorry I was a jerk. I was just...”

He struggles to find words under the heat of her stare, and rubs his neck. It's rare that Jake ever feels about two inches tall, but if anyone can humble him, it's the woman standing before him wearing an oversized janitor's uniform, a plastic crown and a frown.

“I'm not mad that you didn't pick me – well, I was,” she says, moving her hands to her hips. “I'm mad because of the reason – how couldn't you trust me?”

Jake blinks, stunned. “What?”

“You and Holt admitted in front of everyone else that you thought I'd be untrustworthy, and that you wouldn't want me on your team. I told you how it made me feel, and you thought I was making it all up. And then – _then_ you faked an apology to try and get more information out of me! Did you actually think telling me you loved me and getting down on one knee would work on me? That it was okay to say those things in order to manipulate me?”

“No, _no_ ,” Jake panics, running a hand through his hair. “Amy... god, look. When you put it that way, of course, of course I was being a fucking idiot. I _am_ a fucking idiot. I didn't mean – when I said – _that_ – it came out the wrong way and at the wrong time because I have no filter, but I...”

Amy takes a step back, her expression softening into something more like surprise. Jake squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down.  _Is this our first fight?_ he asks himself.  _Pull it together, Peralta, and stop being a jackass._

“I do trust you,” he whispers, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I trust you with everything. I trust you with my secrets, with my bank card, that you'll buy that cheesecake I like every time you go to the grocery store. You have my back, and I trust you with my life. Literally.

“I got so swept up in that stupid heist that I wasn't going to take any chances,” he continues, cheeks blooming with shame. “I saw you as a liability, and I shouldn't have, and I am so, so sorry. Sincerely.”

Amy's hands fall down by her sides, and her eyes flick over Jake as he waits for her judgement. Eventually, she nods.

“Thank you. For saying that.”

She curves into his touches, and he feels all the tension leave his body in one breath as he envelopes her in a hug, the cape falling to their feet.

“I'm not done, though,” he admits, before leaning back. “You were right about me dropping the L-bomb in the worst place possible, and I -”

“It's okay,” she interrupts, placing a finger on his lips and smiling. “You don't have to. I get that you didn't mean to say it then, like that...”

He takes her hand, freeing his mouth, and feels that word vomit bubble up again. He can't stop himself.

“I know it was shitty timing today and said in the entirely wrong way, but... if it wasn't a joke, in the heat of the moment, would you be ready to hear it? Not the marriage part, obviously, but the other thing?”

He doesn't know how he expects her to react – a slideshow of her face depicting various expressions ranging from joy to outrage to downright shock spins through his mind – but calmness isn't something he plans for.

“I... I think so,” she says simply, as if deliberating whether or not it's going to rain. “I mean... I never expected you to say it so soon, but... I already know.”

Jake blinks, heart thundering.

“I am, after all, queen of the precinct and an amazing detective-slash-genius.”

Jake can't stop himself grinning, leaning down to place soft kisses under her ear as her hands climb up his shoulders. He feels her smile on his neck, and starts to laugh, dizzy.

“God, me and my big, stupid mouth.”

She giggles. “For the record, I quite like your big, stupid mouth. When it's put to the right uses.”

“Can my big, stupid mouth make it up to you, then?” he asks as he starts to pop open the buttons on her overalls.

“Fine. But I'm keeping this on.” She gestures to her headwear.

“Of course,” he smirks. “Milady.”

 

* * *

 

“God, me and my big, stupid mouth.”

Amy sways back on the cushioned gym sneakers that completed her janitor disguise. The only light in her bedroom comes from the lamp on the left night-stand, which is surrounded by various items that don't belong to her; a man's wristwatch, some painkillers, and a stick of deodorant. She stares at them for a few seconds, distracted from the movement of Jake's hands on her waist.

She knows she had a right to be mad at him over the day's events, but she also knows that he would never do anything to intentionally hurt her. The small fight they'd had upon their return home after her coronation had made her cheeks pinken and hands shake, which she'd tried to disguise by clenching them, and there was a small part of her conscience that had shrilled _you're overreacting, Miss High-Maintainance_.

He's close to her, leaning in and dusting his lips on her neck. Every kiss makes her feel taller, and she tells him, “For the record, I quite like your big, stupid mouth. When it's put to the right uses.”

His breath swirls around her ear in a laugh, making her shiver, and something in the air and his voice changes when he replies, “Can my big, stupid mouth make it up to you, then?”

She swallows, and he undoes a few buttons of her grey jumpsuit. “Fine. But I'm keeping this on,” she says, pointing to her crown.

He smirks at her, then. “Of course. Milady.”

Jake takes her in a kiss so deep she has to rise on the balls of her feet to keep balance. He so often switches from joking and playful to passionate and powerful, but it hasn't yet failed to take her by surprise and make her blood rush south. But this isn't the way she wants to play it tonight.

She's going to be treated like the queen she is, but it's going to be on her terms.

Amy pushes him off, so forcefully he hands with an  _ooph!_ on the floral ottoman at the foot of her bed. She resists the urge to laugh at the stunned look on his face, exacerbated by the pink 'o' of his lips and the damage her raking hands have done to his hair.

“Stand up, Peralta,” she commands, before sitting cross-legged in her dressing-table chair. He rises to his feet, somewhat silhouetted in the warm glow of the light, and folds a smile as he clearly realises the concept of this new game. “Now... take off your coat.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he salutes, enthusiastically unzipping his leather jacket.

Amy's cheeks warm at the formal address, and as much respect as she has for authoritarian titles, it reminds her of being addressed this way by rookie beat cops straight out of the academy. “You'll address me as Your Highness, thank you very much.”

Jake smirks again, in soft amusement. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

He peels the thick bomber from his frame, shaking it off his left wrist as if caught in it; Amy rolls her eyes.

“Now the plaid.”

This layer isn't buttoned, and he shrugs it off with the manner of an impatient child.  _That won't do,_ Amy thinks to herself, as he straightens with hands on hips, his undershirt a navy tee that clings in all the right places.

“And that one. And... do it slowly.”

This time, he seems to get it, and takes his time. He usually yanks t-shirts off with one hand from the nape of his neck, but this time he pulls slowly with two hands crossed at the bottom hem. His biceps bulge slightly as he peels the shirt away to reveal his firm abs, carrying the small pudge of his belly that Amy loves to suck bruises into.

He lifts the shirt over his head and Amy thinks about all the times she's run her tongue down his chest, for him to turn around and do the same to her, and as she shifts in her seat she feels sensation increase with heat between her legs. Her eyes travel the planes and slopes of his defined shoulders, the slightly nervous twitch of his hands, and the eagerness in his eyes.

“Good. Now lose the shoes, socks and jeans.”

The clunk of his belt hitting the floor and the soft  _whoosh_ of denim reminds Amy (slightly hysterically; thank god there wasn't any cheesy music playing or she may have lost it altogether) of the stripper Jake had hired after their bet came to an end, but any humour and embarrassment Amy feels is swiftly lost when Jake straightens up, clad only in his boxer shorts. Her breath becomes shallower and she feels that same wonder that overcame her their first few times together, when she couldn't quite believe whose skin she was seeing, touching, kissing. She pauses her instruction for a few moments, drinking in the sight of her boyfriend, unsure of where to take this next.

It's not as though Amy doesn't like to take charge in the bedroom, or that she hasn't done it before – but she's never ordered anyone about like this, never commanded every movement and had everything completely to her will. She's a little nervous, scared Jake is going to start laughing if she says or does the wrong thing.

So, in lieu of any other better ideas, she does something that feels right, and slides her hand down her open overalls and into her underwear.

Jake's jaw clenches, his frame wound and hands flexing. He takes a rushed step forward but she barks at him to stay put as her fingers slide through her folds.

“The boxers,” she instructs, hearing the low scratch of arousal in her own voice.

He growls in frustration, padding backwards on her carpet, before carefully inching the navy shorts down his thick thighs. He steps out of them and throws them in the general direction of his other garments, straightening to reveal just how _into_ this game he is. Amy's careful to let her eyes trickle slowly down his body, fixating on his cock as her fingers move in loose circles around her clitoris.

“Like what you see, baby?” Jake only ever calls her that when they're intimate – something that grew out of not using pet names at work – and while it adds fuel to her fire, Amy still rises her eyebrows at him. “Sorry – Your Highness.”

“You're going to have to get better at how you address me,” she replies, standing up and letting the overalls join Jake's pile of clothes on the floor, kicking off her shoes so that she's left only in a bra, tank top and the damp pair of sensible cotton briefs she'd donned this morning. She straddles the seat of the chair, reclining as if watching a movie, legs falling open as she contemplates Jake and tries to keep the thickness out of her voice. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Amy had never before really found the attraction of watching past boyfriends masturbate, and so she can't quite believe it when the words fall out of her mouth. It was something dirty and shocking she'd associated with men watching porn, or that voyeur who used to ride Amy's daily commute home from the Academy (before she'd gotten him arrested). But an erotic power instantly takes hold of her as Jake reaches a hand down and starts to stroke, his eyes never leaving her face.

The pressure starts to build as Amy watches the slow, controlled movement of Jake's hand, smoothing over his swelling flesh, and thinks about how he feels inside her body, in her mouth. _Mine_ , she thinks, as the fire pools in her belly.

“Tell me what you're thinking about,” she says in a low groan, slipping a finger down inside of herself.

Jake half-laughs, eyelids fluttering as his thumb lightly caresses the head of his cock.

“You're kidding me, right?” he breathes, a flush set on his face. “There's a beautiful woman sat in front of me, touching herself while she watches me - you think I even know what day it is?”

Amy huffs a sigh of pleasure, stomach muscles twitching as her fingers gain speed.

“Not to mention - this beautiful, clever, strong, sexy woman, see, she works with me,” he continues, “and when I sit across from her every day I have to stop myself thinking about how sweet she tastes, how amazing she feels in my arms, and how much I want her to ride me until we break those cheap office chairs.”

Amy has to bite her other hand to hide a grin.

“I want to get her in the evidence lock-up and make her come on my tongue in the spot we first kissed,” Jake growls, Amy almost crying with longing at the intensity of his stare. “I want to cuff her to my desk and fuck her over it, until the metal makes pink lines on her stomach and cum is dripping down her legs because she wants me so badly.”

She can't contain a whimper this time; she'd never heard anything quite so filthy, yet direct and eloquent, come out of Jake's mouth before and the combination of those three qualities, with the image they illustrate, makes her ache for him.

“I want her to know that I'm hers – I'd let her do anything, fucking _anything_ to me, and I'd take it.”

Amy moans as pulses of pleasure radiate through her body, and it only takes a few more seconds for her to crest, her thighs reflexively squeezing together as her eyes fall shut and she tries not to slip off the chair. When she recovers enough to look up at Jake, she finds him breathing fiercely with a loose grip on himself, all hard lines and wide eyes.

“Jesus, I could come just from the sight of you.”

Amy stands on wobbly legs and crosses the gap between them until she can just feel his breath on her face and the tension vibrating from him. She raises her right hand and he parts his lips obediently, sucking her fingers one by one until his lips shine and hers are dry.

“Don't. You're not allowed... yet.”

Jake groans as though being denied a freshly cooked steak that's sat right in front of him, and Amy finally takes some pity on him and pulls him in for a kiss. Her own juices taste devilish on his mouth, and she grabs his neck to keep him there until she's had her fill, his own hands splayed on her back and trapping his erection between their bellies.

They become frenzied, hungry; no kiss is deep enough, no touch close enough. Jake's fingers press desire into Amy's hips and she desperately pulls at his hair until he yelps in surprise.

“I've never been this turned on in my life,” Jake mumbles through sloppy, raw kisses, only breaking properly to peel off her top and bra. “Fucking love when you get all in control... confidence looks sexy as hell on you.”

Amy pulls back to see his puffy lips and supernova eyes, and the need for him curls in her stomach again. She slides her thumbs into her waistband, and her briefs drop to the floor.

“Lie down, Peralta.”

He almost stumbles in his haste to obey, knees giving way as he hits the bed before his torso flops down. He shuffles up a little as Amy climbs up beside him, then swings a leg over so she's facing his feet. Jake's hands slide up her thighs, thumbs settling under the swell of her ass, and she looks back at him over her shoulder. “How much do you want another taste?”

“I'd die if you didn't let me,” he blurts hoarsely. “And if this was the last sight I ever saw, I'd go down a happy man.”

“Well, seeing as you've been so good thus far...” she says silkily, before lowering down and spreading her thighs just above his head.

He tugs her down the rest of the way and instantly begins to gorge himself on her hot, desperate flesh. She gasps, sensations heightened by all the blood already around her clit, and fastens her hands on his thighs to keep steady. She lowers herself down slowly and begins to lick at his belly, trailing her tongue over the trail of dark hair that extends towards his groin. Her teeth find anchor and she sucks the skin hard, breath jittery as Jake's lips get to work.

His hands grip her tight, and she's thankful because if her legs weren't jelly-like before, they are certainly having a hard time supporting her now. He knows what makes her stomach clench, what sends her into overdrive; he knows she's close to a second orgasm but he's teasing her, using wide, slow strokes with his tongue. She decides to do the same in return; careful not to touch his cock, despite how badly she wants to feel its weight on her tongue, she bites and sucks down the crease of his thigh, fingernails scratching white heat into his soft skin. He whines into her engorged centre and it only encourages her – she wants to mark him here, remind him of her whenever he moves. She feels his lower abs clench as she bites a hickey right on the inside of his thigh, and splays her fingers over her territory.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he gasps, slipping two fingers from his hold on her cheek and inside her, curling and twisting. Amy buries her face in his leg, biting down against the pleasure and releasing a hoarse cry as he finds her g-spot, rubbing and sucking her to climax again.

He kisses his way up and down her thighs as she comes down, slowly pushing herself up and off him to sit dazedly at the foot of the bed. The thump of her heart is making her whole body shake, rushing blood dulling her other senses as if were sat next to a huge music amplifier. Jake crawls forward to kiss her, not letting her catch her breath, and she trails a weak hand through his hair.

“You're amazing,” she breathes, eliciting a soft smile from him as he moves over her cheek and down her neck. “All the time... I think... me as well -”

“Did I suck the sense out of you?” he chuckles.

“Think so,” she laughs, before pulling him up to eye level. “What I meant was... what you said before about being together at work, fucking me over your desk? I think about it too.”

Jake's eyes widen, and his fingers flex where they rest on her knee.

“I think that was the hottest thing you've ever said,” she whispers, brushing his nose as she darts around his lips playfully. “I know I insisted on not being coupley at work... but I wanna have you on everyone's desk, behind every locked door...”

“On the couch in Holt's office?”

Amy flicks her eyes over him, and grins. “Nah. Too soft.”

“Are you the same Amy Santiago I've known all these years?”

She digs her fingers into his inner thighs as she roughly takes his mouth, clamping over the red marks she left there, and he inhales sharply but doesn't let up; in fact, he responds with vigour, getting closer to her and moving his hand up towards her breasts.

“You like that?” she asks softly, and all he can do is nod. She squeezes again, harder, and feels the sore muscles twitch under her hands. She can't stop being fascinated by how his body reacts to her, and how in turn that makes her belly flutter and head feel light. “I want you so bad right now.”

Jake groans in agreement, the noise seeming to vibrate through his entire body. “You're the boss.” He pulls away slightly, and as a smirk takes over him Amy can almost see the light bulb pop up over his head. “I don't have any handcuffs on me, but I think we can do something about that desk fantasy.”

Amy raises an eyebrow; she's roused again at the promise of his dark, velvety tone. She turns her head and looks inquisitively at the cream, Georgian-style vanity table in the corner, which has a wide, deep top and a large mirror attached to the back.

“Sounds good to me.”

Jake positively vaults off the other side of the bed to rifle in her bedside drawer for a condom, while Amy leaps to the vanity to clear off her modest cosmetics collection (she absolutely was not going to sweep them off with one bold push like they do on TV). She runs her hands over the painted wood, the cool, hard edges a contrast to her flushed skin. In no time at all, she feels Jake's palms trail up her hips, mouth a whisper at her neck.

“How many more orgasms do you have in you?”

Amy shivers, and feels Jake's lips purse against her ear. “Bet you can't make me beat my personal record?”

“Oh, you know I love a challenge.”

The desk is fairly high and just about reaches Amy's hips, and she braces her hands to stop herself slipping forward as she bends at the waist. Wisps of Jake's hair tickle her back as he drops down, parting her with his hands as he hovers near her entrance, his hot breath tantalising her already flaming skin. She shifts on her feet, anxious for his touch, and he presses one flat, tender kiss there before straightening. Her pulse skips, and she twists her neck back to find him waiting for her, lips meeting as he teasingly slides the head of his cock through her folds. She gasps into his open mouth, desperate for him to stop teasing.

“Just fuck me already.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replies, before using one splayed hand to push her down and the other to pull her back, widening her feet on the carpet, before pushing into her.

It's a sweet stretch, a soft ache; Amy loves the way he puts her to the test every time, and even more so the way her body is desperate to accommodate him. She lets a throaty groan slip from behind her bitten lip, and relaxes so her breasts cushion her against the wood, the cold sending a volt of pleasure through her nipples.

Jake pulls back before sinking deeper the second time, and both of them struggle against making noise. Amy can hear the uneven rhythm of his breath, a result of being denied her intimate touch for far longer than usual and then experiencing it all at once. She reaches one hand back and closes it over his, trying to tell him that this isn't just all about her, even though it started off that way.

Her teeth close round her other wrist as Jake starts to move properly, his hands fidgeting over her skin as he tries to find the best way to take advantage of their position. He tugs her hips back away from the desk slightly, and Amy pushes herself back up to her forearms for more leverage as he thrusts, fast and greedy. The slap of skin echoes around her room, accompanied only by choked gasps and the scratch of Amy's short nails on wood.

“Fuck,” Jake marvels softly, slowing down a little. Amy's already hovering at the brink; she knows his torturous change of pace is a way to make things last a little longer, but it's agony for her and her inner muscles squeeze around Jake as if to try and encourage him.

“You're killing me,” Amy breathes, the sensation of his length slowly leaving her only to pound back in causing her entire body to quiver.

An arm sneaks round to her stomach, up between her breasts and pulls her upright. Her back meets Jake's chest, and the angle of him changes so that he's brushing her g-spot. She feels her toes flex and arms quake in this small taste of pleasure, her body begging for the full dish. Jake trails his lips up and around her shoulders, nape, neck; her eyes float open and the image of herself in the mirror is captivating.

The sight of the man behind her, lavishing attention on her skin as he slowly fucks her, makes her feel dizzy. His eyes never leave her body, as though every inch of skin he encounters deserves all the focus he can muster. There are white fingermarks on her waist, left as his gun-calloused hands stroke and seize and stray in every direction. Exertion has steamed on her chest, the skin between her legs is pink and glistening, and her face is flushed and kiss-ravaged. The pièce de résistance, however, is the plastic crown that is miraculously still sitting atop her ruffled hair, albeit slipping somewhat to the side. She feels powerful, beautiful.

Jake seems to notice her staring and moves his face to rest, eyes peeking over one shoulder and grinning into her flesh.

“You deserve that,” he mumbles. “And I'll make sure you know it, every day we're together.”

Amy doesn't have time to respond before her grasp on the table slips again as Jake regains speed; her head drops in surprise and the crown rolls to the floor, clattering as it goes. Her legs start to quake, thighs burning as the heat in her stomach unfolds again. Her head falls back, lips parted towards the ceiling, but Jake forces her harder against the table edge to hold her in place and frees one hand to pull her chin level again.

“I want you to watch me make you come, Ames,” he grunts, “and I want you to think about this moment every time you're staring into the mirror in the interrogation room, and how I could make you scream my name over that cold, metal table.”

Jake's fingers crawl up to her bottom lip; Amy's eyes flick between his intense stare and her own bright gaze. She doesn't need his instruction because she'll remember that expression and that demeanour for as long as she lives, and she catches a split second of the surprise on her face as another orgasm hits, eyes squeezing shut against the convulsions that take her.

Jake withdraws, allowing her a recovery period, but it doesn't last long. He's got determination written all over his face, but it's swirled with that soft wonder that makes Amy melt.

“Holy mother of God,” she sighs, blowing hair out of her face. She feels empty without him inside her, cold without his mouth on her.

“We're not done,” Jake responds, reaching behind him for something she can't see. She tries to turn around but he stops her, and instead she watches the hand of his reflection sneak round her belly and press something cold to her burning, overworked flesh. She hisses, jumping back into his grasp, feeling his erection press against her ass.

“I found something in your cabinet while I was looking for a condom,” he mutters, his tone reminding Amy of the days when they used to dig up embarrassing information on the other and proceed to tease them in front of the whole squad. “I have to say, it intrigued me... do I have some competition? Or can I use it to help me win this bet?”

Amy flushes; when she's reunited with clarity, she recognises what Jake is sliding against her. She knows it's not unusual for a woman to have a vibrator, but she's never exactly been open about using them with partners before. She clears her throat, and finds her voice rough.

“That's reserved for nights when you're at the precinct and not here in my bed.”

Jake's face stills, and he has to blink himself out of a stupor. Amy giggles.

“I only think about you, when I use it,” she continues. “But it's no replacement for the real thing.”

“Well, maybe it and I can work together,” Jake suggests, as he presses the soft button on the end and it springs to life, making Amy's whole body jolt in surprise. He trails it away from her clit, through her folds before dipping it inside her briefly and trailing it down the creases of her thighs. The vibrations are soft agony, and she desperately tries to control Jake's hand with one of her own. Post-orgasm weakness means that her efforts are futile, but her hand stays clasped over his anyway.

His other arm pins her to his body, and they stand bolt-upright in front of the mirror again as Amy pants and whines, moving her hips against him to try and create the friction she so desperately craves. She realises she's rubbing his cock as she does so, and that it's taking an enormous amount of his self control to do this as he bites down on her shoulder with a groan. Eventually he gives in and moves the toy where she needs it, taking her breath away, and presses the button again to amp up the power.

A strangled scream is wrestled from her hoarse throat as their entwined hands press against her and she quickly comes again, slipping on the carpet so Jake has to catch her. She's dazed, momentarily overcome by sensation, as he removes the toy and pulls her over to the bed, letting her fall face first onto the softer surface.

“Fuck, you're amazing,” she groans into the duvet, muscles shaking and heart pounding. Her body shivers against the coolness of the quilt, before Jake's warmth is covering her, his breath misting over her neck. He roughly rolls her over onto her back, and she feels the head of his cock pushing at her again.

“So are you,” he pants, before he fills her and she's fisting her hands in the fabric beneath them.

Amy tries so hard to keep her eyes on him - he looks beautiful, lips parted and skin blushing high on his cheekbones, but she can barely keep her eyes open as he hits that sweet spot over and over, drawing ragged breaths interspersed with half-finished curses. She scrabbles for a hold on his neck, her fingernails digging and scratching until he hisses.

The day is forgotten; her embarrassment, fury and annoyance is a distant memory, because she knows Jake will never stop trying to make it up to her and that this is only the start. All she knows in this bubble of time is his arms on either side of her, the sound of his breathing above her and the strong, smooth motion of his body joining with hers. She suddenly feels him press the vibrator against her stomach, and whimpers as he slowly trails it down between them.

“Fuck, no, I don't think I can – oh, god, _fuck_ , Jake -”

He holds it against her swollen clit and she starts to babble in protest, the sensation painful and causing her to spasm and quake. Tears are squeezed from her eyes, her body building up to something she didn't know she had in her; her back lifts off the bed as her core alights, abs tightening and thighs clamping around his, making it hard for him to move. The only sound she can make is the abrasive inhalation her lungs seize for her, protesting wildly as another orgasm is ripped from her tired, sensitive body. She sobs and cries his name into his hair as he follows, discarding the toy and folding into her.

“You okay?” he whispers, stealing her breath with an exhausted, lazy kiss. He looks concerned, but she smiles in reassurance.

“I have no idea,” she replies, heart beating a mile a minute. She wipes her face and threads her fingers through his hair, finding her arms ache with the effort. “I've never – I mean – holy crap. Wow.”

Jake grins into her neck, rolling to her side so she can cool down. “Are you up for another round in the shower?”

Amy laughs deliriously. “Are you kidding? I'm barely going to be able to walk tomorrow. I think I need an ice pack.”

“Then I've done my job,” he growls into her ear, before getting up and padding to the kitchen. Her eyes aren't too tired to appreciate the view, and they follow curiously until he comes back with two pint glasses of water. She's a little shocked by the visible damage her mouth has done to his stomach and upper thighs, but he doesn't seem to be concerned. “A queen must stay hydrated if she is to rule her subjects.”

She gulps half of her glass in one go. “I could never rule over you. You're the wildcard in my life.”

Jake flops down, bouncing the mattress in such a contrasting manner to his behaviour during the evening's exertions, proving Amy's point.

“You already rule me, Ames.”

She kisses him, then, soft and slow. The words maybe aren't there on her tongue, but she knows them in her heart, and she needs him to know that they're there, too. She runs a soft hand over the bruises she made, before dipping down and kissing them, too.

“Hey.” He lifts her chin with a finger, pulling a sheet over them both. “I hope you're planning on keeping that crown.”

Amy laughs, fighting the fatigue that's making her eyelids droop. Jake yawns widely, and pulls her close.

“We can both wear it.”

“Okay, but if you ever wear it at work again, it'll make me so ridiculously horny that I may just have to bend you over my desk after all.”

“I would love that,” Amy replies huskily, before giggling. “But then, so would Charles, I'm betting.”

Jake screws up his face and shudders. “Ugh. That's just one step away from being invited to food-related foursomes with him and Genevieve. Maybe we should stick to less public areas.”

“Like the evidence lock-up?”

“Perfect.”

 


End file.
